Charmed: A Newt ScamanderPercival Graves Collection
by The Feisty Rogue
Summary: 1. Newt gets stopped by customs when he returns to America. 2. Newt goes on the hunt for a mythological creature. 3. Newt sees a handsome stranger across a dance floor.
1. Charmed

Newt sat on his case, holding Charlie, his niffler, by the scruff of his neck. His wand was in his hand, and he leaned his chin on his knuckles, elbow braced on knee, and yawned.

He'd been waiting to be allowed through customs for six hours now. Everything had been going absolutely fine… until the customs officer's wedding ring had disappeared. After an awkward explanation of what a niffler was, a chase around the portkey office leading to the Destruction of Property, and a more thorough inspection of Newt's case, he'd been impounded.

"Mr Scamander."

Newt jumped, and silver sparks flew out of the end of his wand. He scrambled to his feet, certain that he was blushing bright red, and then froze when he came face to face with a smirking Percival Graves.

Tucking Charlie into his pocket, he levelled his wand at the other man.

"If I was going to curse you, I wouldn't have given you the courtesy of a warning," Graves drawled.

Newt grimaced. He eyed Graves' lapels – lacking scorpion pins; his shoes – which were scuffed just slightly, likely from fieldwork; and then his eyes – which shone with hidden mirth, and a hint of impatience.

"Not Grindelwald?" Newt asked, even as he tucked his wand away. "That's er, that's jolly good."

"Something that we can agree upon," Graves said dryly. "Now, Mr Scamander, I have just been embroiled in a lengthy argument with the President over whether we should even permit you into the country. Personally, I believe allowing you to set a single foot upon American soil is a dire mistake, however the President seems to think that we owe you for your _assistance_ last year. The agreement that we have come to is that you may enter, as long as you permit me to add a selection of charms to your suitcase to ensure that nothing escapes it," here, Graves' gaze settled upon the pocket from which Charlie was desperately trying to escape, "harmless, or not."

Newt shuffled so that he was standing between Graves and his suitcase, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What charms would they be?"

Graves arched a brow. "Do you not trust me?"

Newt winced. "Er… not really?"

At this, Graves chuckled. "Wise, quite frankly. Rest assured, Mr Scamander, that the charms will be nothing more harmful than a selection of locking spells and perimeter wards aimed at containing your creatures, and alerting me immediately should one of them escape."

With reluctance, Newt stood aside.

"The niffler?"

Newt smiled sheepishly, and placed Charlie back into the case, Dougal catching the little rascal at the bottom of the ladder. "Be good now," he murmured, catching Dougal's gaze, who blinked in acknowledgement, then disappeared.

He watched silently, noting each of the spells Graves added, determined to find a counter for all of them, should he need it.

From the mildly amused glance Graves treated him with when he was finished, he was certain that his intense observation had not been subtle. Newt was fine with that. After all, Graves wasn't exactly a hardship to look at, regardless of the spells he performed.

"Please, allow me to escort you out of here," Graves offered.

Newt picked up his case, and inclined his head. "Thank you."

They walked together out of customs, and Newt couldn't hide his guilty wince as the customs officer whose ring Charlie had acquired glared at them. Fortunately, Graves' hand, heavy on Newt's shoulder, propelled him forward before he could make a fool out of himself by apologising yet again.

"You're friends with Tina, aren't you?" Graves said as the waited for the lift.

Newt nodded.

"She's a sensible woman, most of the time," Graves said. "Busy, now she's been promoted back up to Major Investigations."

"She can handle it," Newt declared with utter confidence.

There was a faint smile upon Graves' lips when he answered, voice low. "I dare say she can."

There was a gleam in Graves' eye that made Newt shiver, and he offered the other man a tentative smile. Perhaps he'd leave the charms on his suitcase… at least while he was in America.

* * *

Gift fic for the lovely Bex (DobbyRocksSocks)

Assignment #9

Duelling Task 2: Write about looking out for someone else.

Word count: 688


	2. A Lonely Existence

A Lonely Existence

Newt felt the throbbing pain of an impending headache in the bridge of his nose and behind his eyes, and smiled. It was impossible to get close to a Migrall without feeling psychic resonance of some kind, and this almost always manifested as a migraine, or dizziness.

He leaned against a tree trunk, the bark rough against his arm through the thin layer of his shirt. He fished a headache potion from his pocket, and swallowed it in one gulp. It muted the pain, but he could still feel a niggle of it, settled right at the back of his skull.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he called out softly. Carefully, he withdrew his sketchpad and a pencil from his pocket.

He glanced about the forest, eyes sharp for something that was out of place. Nobody knew what a Migrall looked like – every eye witness account was different. The only thing that could be agreed upon was the splitting headache, and the compulsion to leave the area that only faded when the victims had truly strayed from their original path.

Newt could feel it now, tugging him forward. His loose grasp of Occlumency helped him shield a little, but each defiant second only increased the pressure of the compulsion, and the resulting headache. He grimaced against the pain, and pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn't help.

Instead, he drew a breath, and forced himself to turn on one foot.

He came face to face with a –

Newt blinked.

There was nothing there.

He took a couple of steps forward. Hadn't he seen something? Perhaps it was this way. His head hurt less, and –

Newt growled, angrier with himself than the Migrall. After all, you couldn't blame a beast for its nature. He turned back, marching toward where he'd been before.

"You're a slippery thing, aren't you?" he said aloud. The headache was back in full force, and his mind felt fuzzy and detached. "Well, I'm not the type to give up."

Newt walked toward the pain, the psychic pressure. He swayed, dizzy and disorientated, but still he walked forward. He refused to give up, even when the blinding pain was all that he could think about.

His vision grew dark, and Newt stumbled over a root. The ground was soft, and the world was bright – too bright. He flinched away from it, and even that was painful.

Newt blinked slowly, vision blurred. The last thing he saw was a face, inhuman and gnarled, like a tree come to life. It looked strangely… sad.

* * *

Newt struggled awake, disorientated and confused.

"Calm down, Scamander. Take a breath," a low voice rumbled, one that Newt intimately recognised.

"Percival," he breathed, and sagged back down against the pillows he was laying upon.

The room slowly came into focus. He was in a hospital bed. Percival was standing at the foot of it, arms crossed, with a frown marring his face.

Newt smiled at him sheepishly. "Hello there."

Percival huffed, and strode forward. "You darn fool," he said softly.

Newt extended his hand, and Percival took it, his larger hand enveloping Newt's more delicate fingers.

"Next time you do something so stupid, take someone along that actually knows how to shield their mind." Percival squeezed his hand, his regard startlingly intent. "Promise me."

Newt's gaze skittered away, but he forced himself to meet Percival's eyes.

"I promise," he said. He was faintly embarrassed by how much he'd pushed himself just to get a glimpse of the elusive creature. After all, it wasn't as if he'd succeeded.

Then, Newt gasped as his final memory came back to him.

"Scamander?" Then, "Newt?" Percival leaned over him, sounding worried.

Newt grinned. He closed his eyes for a moment, securing the image in his mind.

"I saw it," he whispered. "I'm the first man alive to have seen a Migrall."

"Barely alive," Percival muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Newt ignored him. Instead, he thought about how the Migrall had behaved – how it had gently touched Newt's cheek – and the melancholy look upon its face.

He thought about the way it pushed all other creatures away from it, perhaps even for their own survival. A very lonely existence indeed.

"We're going to help it," Newt decided, ignoring Percival's sigh.

"Together," Percival instructed, and it was a declaration and a promise all at once.

* * *

 _Word Count: 729_

 _Resolutions Challenge 17. Spin Off Era_

 _Yule Ball 24. Write about having a headache_

 _Assignment #1 Charms: Write about someone wishing something or someone away._

 _Insane House Challenge 61. Newt/Graves_

 _Ravenclaw – Eagle – Write a Fantastic Beasts fic_

 _365 Prompts Challenge 207. Plot Point – character finds something_


	3. Mr Gorgeous

**Mr Gorgeous**

* * *

Newt catches his eyes from across the room, and a shiver goes up his spine. The man looking at him is a refined kind of gorgeous, just a hint of silver in his hair, chocolate brown eyes filled with intrigue, and broad shoulders Newt wants to see stripped of the smart navy suit that cover them. Without a conscious thought, Newt steps away from the conversation he's only been half listening too, Tina nattering on about her job and her work obsessed boss.

"And so non-maj vandalism is down by 3% following our drop-in clinics, and – hey, Newt, come back –"

Newt would almost feel bad if the man he was walking toward wasn't so striking and obviously equally as struck by that first look they'd exchanged. Mr Gorgeous, or so Newt cleverly nicknames him, has handed his glass of champagne off to a bemused waiter, and is stalking close, a panther in human form.

"May I have this dance?" Mr Gorgeous rumbles.

Newt is suddenly struck by the lingering shyness of his youth, and merely extends a hand. The dulcet tunes of Michael Bublé echo about the ballroom and hand in hand they walk onto the dance floor.

"Do you know the traditional waltz?"

Newt rolls his eyes. "Who doesn't?"

Mr Gorgeous' quick grin makes Newt's heart flutter. "You'd be surprised."

They fall into step, Newt narrowing his eyes when Mr Gorgeous attempts to lead, forcing them to change roles with a squeeze of his hands and a pace forward. He _is_ taller, barely. Mr Gorgeous acquiesces with an indulgent smile, and together, they dance.

Mr Gorgeous is an excellent dancer, from his slicked back hair to his shining wingtips. Newt matches him as they spin and bites his lip to hold back a grin of delight. Mr Gorgeous' gaze settles upon it, and his eyes darken. Newt shivers again, and takes a chance, surging forward.

Closer than any traditional waltz, their torsos are pressed together, sharing body heat. Mr Gorgeous is smirking down at him, his thumb rubbing tantalising circles into Newt's shoulder. Newt tightens his grip and glances toward the door, and casually they waltz in the direction of the exit.

All of a sudden Newt can't bear it. He pulls free, smiling wildly, and clasps Mr Gorgeous' hand.

"Let's make a run for it," he suggests, and they do, laughing as they dash the short distance out of the ballroom.

"And I thought tonight was going to be so dull," Mr Gorgeous says, voice low.

Newt shoots him wicked look. "Taxi?"

"I'll get our coats," Mr Gorgeous promise. "Scamander, isn't it? Tina talks about you, sometimes."

He strides away before Newt can answer, leaving him wondering who on earth his mystery man is.

Newt has had a finger of scotch however, and the buzz is enough that he doesn't mind wondering. Any friend of Tina's is trustworthy enough, regardless. He orders a taxi from the hotel reception, and it's just pulling up as Mr Gorgeous returns, hustling him into it.

The look in his eyes tells Newt all he needs to know about their plans for the evening. Newt stutters out his address to the taxi driver before turning back to the man who seems to be overwhelming, despite the fact he's strapped himself in with the seat belt. His gaze, electric and hot, is enough that Newt can feel himself flush. Casually, or as casually as he can be, he spreads his legs, nudging Mr Gorgeous' knee with his own. Mr Gorgeous answers by settling one large hand upon Newt's thigh, just high up enough to tease, and squeezing firmly. Newt closes his eyes, breathes in, and opens them, knowing his pupils will be dilated, that his desire will be written upon his face for even the most oblivious person to read and understand.

The rest of the taxi ride is a blur, and soon they're stumbling out, onto the pavement. Newt's staying in a rented apartment because he can't afford New York real estate on a government salary, not even if it's supplemented by the stipend MACUSA gives him for basing his office in their hunting ground, or so to speak. It's enough for tonight, however.

He opens the door with shaking hands, but rests his palm flat against Mr Gorgeous' chest before he can step in.

"What's your name?" he asks. "It's only fair, seeing as you know mine."

Astonishment, then delight crosses Mr Gorgeous' face.

"Graves," he purrs. "Percival Graves."

Newt blinks. A million thoughts occur to him – he's Tina's boss, and technically Newt's in a roundabout way. But none of that matters more than the way Newt's being looked at, like he's the most beautiful creature to walk the earth.

A grin spreads across his face. "Alright, Mr Graves… would you like to come in?"

* * *

Word count: 804

Assignment #2 Wizarding Languages Task 3: Write about a different way of communicating

Insane House Challenge 8. Newt Scamander

365 Prompts Challenge Plot Point 211. Dancing Together


End file.
